


Beholden

by Melusine10



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Clone Sex, Clones, Comfort, Desire, F/M, Magic, Seiðr, Sif gets it, Wicked Loki, clueless thor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 11:51:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20778119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melusine10/pseuds/Melusine10
Summary: "You realize this entails some extraordinarily disturbing psychology on my part, yes? It is distasteful, to say the least."Loki uses his unique "skills" to help Sif deal with her unrequited love for Thor. Accepting Loki's aid puts her into his debt, but will the God of Mischief get more out of their deal than he expects? Quirky Loki/Sif pairing with Thor projections.





	Beholden

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2014. My first attempt at Loki. I realized I never migrated this story to AO3. Enjoy!

Over the many years of his life, Loki had been gifted a number of colorful titles, no doubt stemming from his numerous misdeeds and misadventures across the Nine Realms. He was the God of Mischief. The Contriver, the Artificer. A Lie-smith. Silvertongue. There was one name for the dark prince of Asgard that none seemed to know – an oversight with which he was perfectly content. Loki was also the Keeper of Secrets.

Though they would be loathe to admit it, many an Aesir sought him out for his services. They came to him for beauty potions and love charms. They asked him to weave up falsehoods for friends and lovers, or to help them plot games and heists. In short, he was solicited for all manner of banal and quotidian trickery. He did not deign to entertain every request – some he found too inane or unworthy of his vast talents. Others were simply far too malicious. Contrary to popular belief, he was not an evil god, merely a naughty one.

In the course of his work, he had gathered ruinous and damning information on virtually every noble in the realm. He rarely exploited the lies of others. He didn't have to. The threat of exposure was unspoken and ever-present. It made him one very dangerous enemy to cross. He kept these secrets close, savoring them, happy with the power that lay in their silence. Indeed, he needed only give a pointed look or make a sly remark to remind his clients of the depths of their indebtedness to him.

Some secrets, however, Loki wished he could bury and forget, for they were too raw and close for comfort. These were the kind that burned in the back of his mind, galling and disgusting him simultaneously. Most of these loomed between his adoptive father and he, the source of an unending bitterness and discord that seethed just below the surface of their relationship. In other words, most of these secrets involved himself. When Loki woke one particularly fine morning, he would never have predicted how soon he would acquire another such shameful secret. Nor would he have hazarded a guess at who would bring him this unwelcome burden.

The royal apartments had yet to stir with the bustle of guests and servants and the silence was welcome. It was for this very reason that Loki had always been an early riser. These hours were his most productive, a blessed retreat from the puffery of boastful warriors and slippery diplomats. Gilded rays of sunlight filtered into his favorite sitting room from an open balcony. Beyond it lay a spectacular view of Asgard. The palace grounds unfolding for miles below, followed by the spires of the city's impressive buildings and bordered by the wild forests and staggering mountain peaks towering in the distance. Ignoring the familiar sight, Loki was thoroughly ensconced in a strange text he had acquired from Nidavellir – the dwarf realm. He was still attempting to decipher the book's mysterious code when the stealthy patter of footsteps echoed down the hallway. The sound distracted him. He would recognize those deadly feline arches anywhere, though why they should be headed his way was beyond him. A whisper of a smile snaked across his lips.

There was a light scratch of nails on his door. "My prince. I hope I do not disturb you coming at such an early hour," a familiar voice whispered.

"Lady Sif," he greeted, snapping his book shut with a definite clap. "What a rare and unexpected honor. What brings you to this wing of the palace?" He gestured for his guest to take the seat opposing him, then poured her a steaming cup of tea from his own breakfast tray. She took the chair hurriedly, an anxious hand fiddling with the hem of her skirt.

"My lord, forgive the intrusion. I was wondering whether you had news of your brother?"

Her concern came as no surprise. Sif's obsession with her betrothed reduced one of Asgard's fiercest warriors into a silly schoolgirl. Thor was not yet ready for the throne and hence he was unprepared to take on a wife and all the duties that caring for a future queen entailed. She knew this. He knew it. Everyone in the Nine knew it. He would accept her when the time came. Perhaps he would gift her with a patience potion if the mood struck him. Sif would certainly have to play her cards right though. The thought that the creature before him would someday replace his beloved mother revolted him. How unworthy she was! Frigga was the most powerful sorceress in existence. Anyone could heave a weapon around in the dusty training yards. What rare talents did Sif wield? What novelty did she possess? None. Loki pushed his rising anger back and took a measured sip of his drink.

"Indeed, I do not have news of him," he replied smoothly, a perfect picture of calm.

"Are you not concerned? I was certain he would have returned by now."

"The mission to Muspelheim will take as long as necessary. Allfather requires a fire dragon. Where else do you suggest we get one if not the Realm of Fire?" He gingerly set the teacup down and gave her a pointed look.

"But alone? It cannot have been wise to leave the Warriors Three and me behind. I do not like it."

"And this is why you have come to me? You would have me inform the Allfather of your displeasure at his decision to keep a mission necessitating diplomacy…diplomatic?"

The porcelain-skinned woman blanched. "No, no, of course not," she stuttered. "You twist my words, Loki. You always…." She caught the accusation mid-sentence. "I only meant to say…I just…Well, I meant that…"

Loki suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at the incoherent woman. If love made everyone sound this stupid, then kindly excuse him if he was unimpressed by the entire concept. "You meant to say that you miss my brother and have come to me in his absence for some sort of comfort?"

Sif blushed deeply and stared out the balcony, then at her hands. "I suppose…yes."

"A patience spell is rudimentary. Child's play, really. Shall I prepare you a batch?"

"No, my Prince, I wouldn't trouble you with something so simple. Besides, one of the ladies at court already gave me some," she admitted, biting her lip.

He wanted to comment on the obvious inefficacy of the potion, but he bit back the retort. "What then? Don't flatter me by saying you only wished to bask in my royal presence. I must be a poor substitute indeed," he spat, slightly more venomous than he had intended.

"By the Nine, Loki!" She shook her head in exasperation at the man she had grown up alongside. Their friendship had always been uneasy and strained, based only in their mutual love of the now absent blond god. "You know Thor better than he knows himself. Does he even care for me? I swear I catch him staring at me with wariness when he thinks I am not looking. Does he even want to marry me or is it simply duty that compels him?" Fat tears welled up and rolled angrily down her cheeks.

Loki sighed. He hated when women cried. With a flick of his wrist he summoned a silk handkerchief and offered it to her. She wiped furiously at the offending tears, embarrassed to appear so vulnerable before someone she disliked more often than not.

"There, there." He patted her wrist noncommittally. "Thor cares for you a great deal. He only wishes to do right by you. If it is wariness you see in his regard, it comes from his fear that he will let you down. Give him time, Sif. That is all that is needed in this situation."

"Truly?"

The irony of asking him – of all gods – about the truth seemed obvious, but Loki chose to indulge her with honesty. It was not her fault that his brother was too dumb to see how his clueless behavior affected the woman. She kept up a confident face in public, but Loki had easily seen through her façade long ago. "I promise, Sif. He loves you very much."

Much to Loki's surprise, she suddenly threw her arms around his neck. "Thank you," she whispered into his neck, still snuffling. Sif's tight, corseted body pressed against him and her perfumed hair brushed against his cheek and lips. He was closer than he had ever been to the goddess. Closer than he should ever be. Unthinking, his hands wended their way around her narrow waist, pushing her full bosom into his chest. It unexpectedly planted a germ of an idea in his mind.

But no. He shouldn't.

He shouldn't.

But of course, he could…

To consider it was beyond shameful. To go through with it was well beyond the obscene. In all his years, in his many wicked escapades, he had never stooped so low for a bit of sexy fun. He was also fairly certain it constituted borderline treason. She was the crown prince's betrothed, after all.

There was no point in denying it. It was perfect mischief and the mere thought made his eyes twinkle with giddiness. "Perhaps I can offer you something else instead, Lady Sif, if only to slake your appetite whilst you wait for my painfully slow brother. Wait here but a moment before coming across the hall." He slipped from her embrace and strode confidently out of his receiving rooms to Thor's chambers, pausing to banish the servants from the corridors. The few chambermaids furtively scurrying about scattered instantly.

Loki sighed, shaking his head in contempt at what he was about to do. Holding his breath, he let the tendrils of magic float over the surface of his skin leaving tingling trails as his body transformed, thickened, and took on a foreign shape.

A hesitant knock came at the door he'd left ajar. "Loki?" Sif called out, stepping tentatively into Thor's foyer. It felt intrusive to enter while the prince was away.

"Lady Sif!" She heard Thor bellow and he crushed her in a huge hug.

"Thor!? But when did you…" She yelped, her mouth gaping. He gave his typical warm smile, but a momentary flash of green in his eyes revealed the ruse. "Loki!" she hissed, pushing him away. "By the Norns, what are you playing at?"

"Come now, my beauty!" he chastised, in the rich baritone voice of his big brother. His body felt awkward, too bulky. "Do you not remember playing house as children? You will be Sif, a lady warrior of great renown, and I'll be Prince Thor, God of Thunder. We are soon to be wed. Now come sit on my lap and tell me what troubles you. I promise to make it better," he said suggestively, somehow still maintaining the innocent look of Thor despite his silvered words.

"Loki, I will do no such thing. Are you mad?"

With a blink Loki cast a projection of his true self across the room. "Oh!" Loki exclaimed in false surprise from the doorway. "I did not realize you had company, brother. My apologies. I shan't keep you from your love." The projection bowed slightly and left.

"You were saying, my darling?" He tossed his long mane and swaggered nearer to her, offering a hand. "I believe I've not shown you all of my quarters before. You have never been in here, have you?" He casually drew her towards Thor's bedroom.

She started to protest but her certainty wavered and she allowed him to lead her into the darkened room. "No. I haven't been in here."

"Tsk," he pulled her close. "I must be a very greedy boy to have such a big bed and not think of sharing it with you. Or maybe I was just stupid." He ran a hand down her downy arm and could see Sif's conviction resolving.

"Now tell Thor what's on your mind," he urged. "Get it off your chest, as it were." He let his eyes wander to the creamy mounds heaped at the top of her dress.

Sif's eyes softened, unable to resist the perfect copy of her beloved - his beauty, his rumbling voice, even his scent was spot-on. "You're an asshole!" she screamed suddenly and sent a searing slap across his face. Before he could respond, Sif crashed into him, kissing him hard. "Do you think I do not see?" she cried desperately, pulling his long blond locks in her fingers. "You take other women to bed, but never me. Why? I don't want to be on a pedestal. I hate it. I hate you! You're supposed to be mine!" She plastered his mouth with aggressive kisses while her hands began tearing at his clothes.

"Now that's the spirit," he cooed seductively. She continued to berate him while she tugged and pulled at the straps of his armor. "Such language from my future queen!" he teased. Another stream of curses filtered from her mouth as Thor's vambraces clattered to the floor, followed by his breastplate.

"Shut up and have your way with me, you big oaf!" Sif pulled him down onto the bed, then stopped him by with a rough hand around his throat. "And I swear on the Allfather's eye if you shift back in the midst of things, I'll slit your throat before you can say your real name."

"Duly noted, my future queen," Loki purred. In a single movement, he reached down and tore her armored corset clear off her body. "Huh," he stared in surprise at his newfound strength. He tossed the garment over his shoulder and made quick work of the rest of her dress, unwrapping her like a Yuletide present. She lay sprawled before him and he claimed his prize, nipping at the pink rosebuds crowning Sif's remarkable breasts. He planted a trail of delicate kisses up to her throat before sliding down over the edge of the bed to his knees. He gently spread her legs, exposing her to him.

"While we're issuing warnings, darling, I should caution you that I may very likely ruin you for…others. You see, I excel in _all_ forms of mischief," he paused to run a finger over her silken slit and then plunged a thick finger into her wet core, causing Sif's breath to hitch in her throat. "And I'm far more willing to get my hands dirty." With that he took a greedy lick and Sif let out a raspy moan. The sounds he drew from her were far more feral than any he had ever heard issue from these rooms before, and it urged him on to attempt more daring feats. He ravaged her, working her into a wild frenzy.

At some point, Loki realized - much to his horror - that he had taken the ruse too far. He had her pinned against a large picture window, her long legs wrapped around his waist, her supple ass pressed against the glass. He pounded into her mercilessly and she was screaming Thor's name, her hands clasped desperately around his massive shoulders.

And he liked it.

He liked it far too much. Suddenly their coupling was not simply driven by the fact that he could do it; he wanted this. For a brief moment he knew what it was to be the crown prince of Asgard. He felt the raw physical power of this body, so unlike his own. He saw the wanton, abandoned look in his mistress' eyes, no hint of distrust that other noblewomen so often showed him. Loki faltered as a peculiar sense of jealousy and shame crept up his spine.

"No! Don't stop. Please!" Sif begged, wrapping herself tighter around his hips. He shook off the distracted thoughts and redoubled his efforts, in the process accidentally smashing several pieces of expensive furniture. He drew out her pleasure, prolonging each climax for as long as possible. Sif was writhing under his touch, moaning and drenching him with her orgasm. He would never be his brother, but at least he could rest easier knowing that somewhere in the back of her mind, Sif would always remember he could do things to her body that brutish Thor could never achieve, even in his own skin. He may have embroidered a little, after all, adding an inch or two here and there. What was the point of shape-shifting if you weren't going to make any improvements?

They lay in a tangled pile, Thor's bedchamber in utter disarray. "Thank you," Sif whispered, giving his hand a squeeze. She didn't dare look at him, afraid the illusion would break and remind her of what, precisely, she had done.

"Come now, my lady. The hour grows late. We wouldn't want the servants to gossip." He pulled her from the bed and with a twirl of his fingers, her clothing miraculously reappeared, not a stitch damaged or out of place. She giggled at the sight of Thor's big hands producing magic.

"And the room?" she asked. He uttered a few strange words and with a clap, the room was righted to its previous state. "Amazing. You truly are a powerful mage."

The ribbon-like smile that traced over the blond's features was most certainly not that of the God of Thunder. "Then perhaps one day you will forgive me for cutting your hair," he said as he dressed.

She smiled and rubbed his thick shoulder whilst helping him tighten the straps of his armor. "Tis in the past," she offered.

"Very well, Lady Sif. I bid you good day."

She stood on tip toes and gave him a lingering kiss, savoring one last taste of her betrothed. "See you around, my prince."

~OOO~

The next morning, Loki woke with a startle. A quiet but persistent knock rapped at his front door. He felt disoriented. He had slept deeply, still tired from his magical exertions the previous day. Mimicking a living being was easy enough, but embodying a god took a bit more stamina that he was used to mustering. The knock grew more insistent. "For the love of Yggdrasil, one bloody moment!"

Loki was extraordinarily protective of his privacy. Though it was scandalously eccentric and widely disapproved of among the nobility, he refused to keep live-in wait staff in his quarters. The downside meant he had to open his own damn door before public receiving hours officially began and his servants arrived. He dragged himself from the comfortable bed and padded his way through his rooms to the door. Thoroughly annoyed at being disturbed so early, he yanked it opened and barked, "What?"

Lady Sif stood before him, looking rather sheepish. She gave a quick curtsy. Taking in the vision of the bed-headed, barefoot prince, she bit back a smile. His usual pin-neat persona was gone and in its place stood a shirtless and ruffle-haired god. He was, to her dismay, disarmingly charming.

He looked at her wide-eyed. "I see." He said nothing more, instead opening the door wider to let her pass. They stood in silence in his entryway for a long moment. "I did not expect this to become…a thing."

"Just until he gets back. Please."

"You realize this entails some extraordinarily disturbing psychology on my part, yes? It is distasteful, to say the least."

"Please, Loki," she said in earnest. Sif possessed a strategic mind, but even she could not begin to guess at the deeply complicated motives for continuing in their 'collaboration'. As it was, she was blinded by her unrequited love for Thor.

"And if I do what you ask of me?"

"I'll be beholden to you," she blurted without hesitation. "I swear on my life. One day you will need something from me and I will offer it freely."

He considered this. Having a goddess – the future queen, no less – owe him a debt without strings could come very handy, especially given his proclivities for trouble. "And in the meantime?" he asked, curious to see how much the divine noblewoman would promise him.

"I will defend you. I shan't stand idly by while others whisper cruel things. I know now how untrue they are."

Loki raised his eyebrows. It was a bold move to remind him of those in the court who dared to call him '_argr' _behind his back. It was almost touching that she thought he cared. "Very well," he grinned. "Meet you across the hall in five."

Over the next several weeks, the dalliance did indeed become very much 'a thing.' In the dewy dawn hours each day before the cockerel's crow they were swept up in a storm of passion, smashing and fornicating on every available surface of Thor's chambers. It was a violent, feverish lovemaking, desperate and tinged with just the right amount of wrong.

It was also, of course, extraordinarily depraved to live out his dark fantasy of being the golden god he would never be. Sif seemed blessedly ignorant of this, perhaps thinking that he only wanted the forbidden opportunity to lay with her. Though the strong magic left him depleted, the game put an undeniable spring in his step.

The day he heard the tell-tale hum of the Bifrost opening, he was almost sorry that their fun was over. He watched from his high tower as Heimdall disengaged the bridge. Thor emerged from the gatehouse leading a most glorious beast by a chain. He had managed to capture a fire dragon. Its scales shimmered an iridescent crimson and it struggled against its master. Even from where he stood, Loki could hear Thor barking commands at the giant creature. It flapped its leathery wings in protest and Thor brandished his hammer in a threat. Loki chuckled at the ridiculous sight. How like an Aesir, he thought with contempt. The cowards had muzzled the animal in a foolish and pointless attempt to stamp out its fiery spirit. How often had the Aesir tried to do the same to him? They were terrified by what they could not control.

He made a mental note to make a visit to the stables, curious to see the kingdom's latest acquisition up close.

~OOO~

Many moons cycles later, Loki caught Sif casting longing glances at him when no one was looking. The mead had been flowing for hours and their company was rowdy and loud, pounding on the feasting tables and bellowing rude jokes at one another.

Loki gave little thought and even less care to whom his brother was romancing at any given moment. Yet he could not help but be aware that Thor had finally unleashed his affections on his betrothed. Sif giggled and blushed around him like a fawning girl, wildly happy in those first days. But her initial giddiness quickly evaporated and she grew withdrawn. The moment he felt her eyes burning into his shoulder from down the length of the dining hall, he knew.

He knew she was drawing unfavorable comparisons between her real man and the fantastic illusion Loki had conjured for her. He turned and caught her gaze. With a wisp of a smile dancing on his lips, he nodded, acknowledging her. Even at a distance, he could see the blush spread across her face. She suddenly became very occupied with the leg of lamb on the plate before her.

~OOO~

Seasons passed until one fateful day, his brother dared to bring his mortal paramour to Asgard. He paraded Jane Foster all over the city, showing her off like a prized bauble. There were great feasts and balls in honor of her visit and half the realm was in attendance. After one such event, Loki slipped out a side door and beat a hasty retreat to his rooms. He grew weary of the boisterous festivities for the small human. He shed his tight-fitting leather doublet in favor of an asymmetric, short-sleeved robe and made himself comfortable on his favorite couch near the hearth. Just as he was settling back into his latest book, a soft knock sounded at the door. "Enter," he called out, not bothering to look up from his place on the page.

He heard the soft scuffle of women's slippers. "You left the party early," Lady Sif observed in a quiet voice.

"As did you, it would seem." He chanced a glance at her, appearing more bored than annoyed that she had hunted him down. Sif took this as an invitation and sat down next to where his long legs reclined on the sofa. "No," he said acerbically, stiffening. "I've had enough games for one evening. I didn't retire early just to play the obedient prince once more, if only in another guise."

"You? Tire of games?" she teased lightly. She grasped the top of the book he held and slowly pried it from his hands. Then, shockingly, she ran her fingers through his raven locks. "I suppose it is a good thing I too have grown bored of games."

Loki raised an eyebrow. This was certainly a change of pace. "You grow too bold, Lady Sif. Have I not made myself clear? I do not wish to waste my energies conjuring this night."

Sif traced her fingertips down the long, pale sliver of skin exposed from his throat to his chest. Her hand paused over the knot on his robe and she pulled at it experimentally. The tie popped loose. "I only seek what lies before me now," she said in a breathy whisper.

"You want…?" Loki began in surprise, but was abruptly cut off by Sif's mouth crashing upon his. She tore at his hair and the robe around his shoulders, kissing him deeply. He couldn't help but respond, pressing into her. He was nipping bites down her neck when she gasped into his ear.

"You, my prince. Only you. It was always you, even underneath it all. I understand that now."

"Oh what the Hel," he said. "Why not. Just remember, you are still indebted to me."

"Of course, my Prince."

In truth, however, he was now beholden to Sif as well. For he had never before been desired over and above the crown prince. He had never been wanted for exactly who he was.

"Loki?" Sif asked.

"Hnn," he replied, rather occupied between her legs.

"You must be the best kept secret in all the Nine Realms!"

A broad, wolfish grin spread across her face. "Oh no doubt, darling," he gloated, turning back to the soft curves of her body. "No doubt."

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts? Reactions? Leave me a note if you have a moment. Thanks!


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